Desolate Game
by Parsley
Summary: Basch had reached the breaking point with Balthier. The irritating pirate had taken things too far. Fate has the two of them sent on a dangerous mission in the desert. What will they do when the mission turns out to be more then they had prepared for?
1. Chapter 1

Basch felt his trained, rock solid patience coming to its brutal, agonizing death. A frown spread across his weary face. He used every last bit of his willpower in an attempt to conceal his blatant disgust and rage from the rest of the party. Unfortunately, his usual calm miasma was being poured out into the dry, busy streets of Rabanastre. Basch gritted his teeth and flexed his hand resting on the table into a white-knuckled fist, wondering how much time his sanity had to live.

"Something wrong,_ captain_?" came the snide, calm voice of the sky pirate. Basch felt his upper lip twitch in annoyance. A delighted smirk danced across the pirate's face. Balthier's sharp eyes were glazed over with amusement as they watched Basch's every movement. Balthier knew very well that he was doing quite a good job of slowly driving Basch to the brink of insanity. He was quite proud of his working efforts. Such an activity seemed to be something Balthier did to pass the time.

There would be a sword clean through the pirate's vain chest if not for the princess' insistence on keeping him alive.

Balthier was sitting across the table from Basch at the outdoor sitting of the Sandsea, a popular tavern in the heart of Rabanastre. It was nearly vacant because of the strange time of day to be there. It was too late for lunch and too early to get smashed, even for the local drunkards.

The pirate's arms were crossed carelessly and his posture was relaxed. He almost looked bored, but his narrow eyes followed Basch, giving him away as intent. Balthier analyzed Basch with blazing eyes, looking for any sort of competition he could partake in. Although he was subtle about it, everything was a competition in Balthier's mind. He was a lion, playing with his prey before he took the deadly killing blow.

Basch ignored Balthier and suppressed the boiling irritation within himself. Balthier was a menace. The worst part was that Basch knew exactly why Balthier was playing with him so crudely lately. It was entirely Basch's fault. A few weeks ago, Basch had accidentally let a tiny moment slip, revealing his affection of more than friendship and a loyal servant to the princess. Naturally, Balthier had taken advantage of the observation and feasted on it like a group of hungry vultures fighting over a freshly dead carcass.

He was ruthless.

Ever since then, Balthier took every chance he got - or at least, every time Basch was _sure_ to be paying attention - to flirt with Princess Ashe. The sly fox was subtle enough for the princess and the rest of the party not to notice anything out of the norm, but obvious enough to make Basch's blood boil. Basch had at first been patient with the filthy pirate, but he was reaching his limits. He was not about to let him walk all over him and the princess. Balthier was crossing the line.

The sky pirate's purpose, to infuriate Basch, was being its mark dead on. Basch hated more than anything that he was actually giving in to Balthier's sick form of amusement, fueling his power and ego to the point of bursting.

Balthier was a man who liked to play with people, stir them to the point of breaking. There was plenty of room for breakage with so many different toys out there.

Basch gave Balthier a sharp warning glare from across the metal table, reminding him to leave him and the princess alone. It was returned with that aggravating and slick I-know-I'm-not-innocent smirk, shining proudly without holding anything back to Basch. The others remained oblivious to their tiny war over the princess, which was probably for the best. It was better not to get distracted when on such an _crucial _mission.

Well, the party was _mostly_ oblivious. Basch noticed the occasional sneers and eyebrow raises to Balthier courtesy of Fran - jealousy perhaps. But Balthier did not have the slightest intention of loving the princess. He never did and never would; the man only loved being a sky pirate. This clear thought should have put Basch at ease, but it did not. Balthier's efforts were all in irking Basch.

The golden blonde warrior breathed deeply through clenched teeth. He casted his sharp eyes upon Balthier again, who was looking at him with that familiar, mischievous smirk. He then blissfully began to chat Ashe up.

"Why, Lady Ashe, you look-"

"I've had enough, Balthier," Basch interrupted dangerously. A fist met the table with more impact then he had intended thanks to his bursting rage. Balthier's eyes seemed to light up. He had struck a chord, just like he was trying to do all along. Eventually, that horrible smirk curled into a small grin.

"Enough of what, may I ask?" Balthier asked, staring down Basch, not moving a bit from his lounging posture.

"You know _exactly_ what I mean. Don't try to pretend otherwise."

The others in the party seemed to stop chatting with each other to cautiously watch the two men. Quarrels, of course, broke out from time to time, but nothing like this. There was too much anger in the chilled atmostphere, as apposed to the light-hearted bickering they usually shared. The tension between them was bursting, and nobody knew what to do but to cringe and watch.

"But I do not, _captain_," Balthier said, making sure to put sarcastic emphasis on captain, as he usually did. This was all a game to Balthier. A game he was damn good at. His sized up Basch like a deadly hawk, contrasting his other wised relaxed behavior. "Please, inform me," he purred, voice smacked with venom.

Basch took a deep breath in, running a rough hand through his windswept hair. "Again, you know exactly what I mean," he murmured. Basch could feel his composure breaking down.

Balthier's pale lips twitched into a slight frown at this. "You're simply jealous that -"

"Balthier," Fran piped in strongly with a warning scowl. She put a hand to his chest. "Stop provoking him. We do not need to fight right now. Not amongst ourselves," she crooned.

Basch lost it. His controlled sanity snapped like a twig. He hated that man from the second he laid his eyes on him. Basch stood up and promptly threw a well-trained, powerful, blood-thirsty punch to Balthier's right cheek. With no time to think about anything else, Basch felt good. All the rage he had been bottling up inside from the pirate had been released into one swift and vengeful punch. Balthier deserved it for provoking him. Basch hope that this would teach the pirate to play with him no longer and more importantly that the princess was _off limits_. Even, sadly, to himself.

The fist met Balthier's right cheekbone with a sickening smack and his unsuspecting head lashed to the side from the impact. Balthier flashed a look of surprise before he grunted. With care, he put a hand to his throbbing face. He definitely felt the bruise and tingles of blood trying to squeeze their chaotic way to the surface. Balthier flashed Basch a look of both anger and question. Fran was the first to react out of anyone, glaring at Basch with surprise and checking the damage on Balthier's face. The commotion made even Vaan and Penelo stop their childish debate to stare anxiously at the bewildered scene. As they took it in, nobody was quite sure what to do. It was as if even the slightest movement would snap the broken tension even more.

Basch didn't even allow the pirate time to compose himself enough to throw a punch. He was walking away from the scene before he could even be stare satisfied with the relieving damage he had done. Basch did not intend to fight Balthier, only to beat the snarky ego out of him.

"Basch!" Ashe bellowed at the first time her voice allowed her to speak after witnessing such an unbelievable scene. Her voice quivered more out of surprise than anger. She stood up in complete disbelief. Ashe's eyes frantically trailed from Balthier to Basch a few times before she decided on running over to Basch. Ashe latched onto Basch's muscular arm from the back to make him turn around.

His look was cold and stoic. "What is wrong with you?" she hissed, slapping him across the face with a fair amount of force. Basch took the stinging pain without a word.

"Everyone just stop!" Fran growled, standing up and dragging a somewhat dazed Balthier up with her. His eyes were fixated on menacingly on Basch. It was more than just a game now. Basch matched the pirate's blazing glare. "We do not need to fight."

"This wouldn't be happening if _he _wasn't so edgy and violent," Balthier spat, still punctuated. He released himself from Fran with an abrupt tug and brushed off his shirt. His pride disallowed him to gingerly put his hand to his hurting cheek.

Basch resisted lunging at Balthier and strangling him. He made a move forward but was blocked by Ashe snapping in front of him and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Stop," she demanded, glaring into his eyes. Although Ashe was less intimidating than Basch's overflowing anger, she was still the princess and Basch remained loyal to her no matter what.

Their publicity was rising. Rabanastrans stopped to stare at the abnormal scene aside from continuing on with their normal business. The party was in no need of attracting any extra attention. However, the group was too absorbed in their current crisis to notice or care. Vaan glanced nervously at the forming crowd and rubbed the back of his neck. "Guys," he started slowly. He tried not to speak too loudly, not wanting one of them to lash out at him.

"We are briefly in Rabanastre to rest. I know we all desperately need a break but that does not excuse you from deliberately _attacking _one of us! What's gotten into you?" Ashe cried. "Unbelievable."

"Balthier," Basch muttered. "That's what."

Ashe stared at him with fury and disbelief. She opened her mouth to speak but was at loss for words.

Vaan cringed. "Guys, we should go inside," he suggested, eyeing their growing attention. Basch stormed away, breaking free of the princess' firm grip on his wrist. He stormed through the crowd.

"Basch!" Ashe shouted angrily. Her eyes widened as she watched him sulk away.

"That solves _one_ of out problems," Balthier mused darkly, casually turning to head into the indoor part of Sandsea, heeding Vaan's seemingly ignored attempts to leave the area after noticing the rising publicity around them.

Fran shot him a look of disgust. "How can you even say that? This is _your _fault, Balthier," she growled.

"Because it happens to be true."

Fran glared at him. "You need to apologize for_ provoking_ him, Balthier."

"I didn't provoke him," Balthier insisted, making his way into the Sandsea.

"You're just as bad as he, then!"

Ashe squeezed her eyes shut, blinking heavily. "Please, just stop fighting," she pleaded in a hoarse exclamation. Swallowing hard, she stormed past both Fran and Balthier into the Sandsea.

Balthier shrugged and paced in leisurely behind her, followed by an irritated Fran. Vaan and Penelo followed like guilty children being punished.

Ashe was staring at Balthier with a frown, her mind wandering gravely. "Vaan, why don't you go find Basch?" Ashe asked without looking at him. It was more of a command than a hopeful suggestion. Her voice was softer than before and she was obviously upset. Vaan pursed his dry lips and nodded carefully, slowly making his way out of the tavern. _Someone _had to find Basch, after all, and he didn't want to stick around with a probable war between Fran, Ashe and Balthier. Poor Penelo was in the range of fire. Vaan cast her a glance before heading out into the hot, sandy streets. The crowd had diminished, not to Vaan's surprise.

Vaan sighed. "Why did'ya have to do this now, Basch," he breathed, wandering down the bright streets of Rabanastre, filled with woe. His shoulders slunk back and he lacked his usual enthusiasm. Today was not a good day.

He considered calling out to Basch, but there was not a very good chance that he would respond. Basch hadn't even responded to the _princess'_ call. Vaan bit his lip in worry. He wondered if he had missed something big that happened between Balthier and Basch. The seemed to have tolerated each other well enough before. There was always tension between them, but the kind of tension that involves leaving the other alone. They had always done that before today, which had turned into a bloody mess. And cool, calm, and collected _Basch_ of all people. Something had to be up. Vaan hoped that they got it sorted out because honestly, it was scary to see his friends that enraged at each other. He sighed, staring at his clanking feet.

Vaan scanned the streets, finding no trace of the fuming warrior. He breifly thought about going back to the Sandsea, but decided it would be easier of everyone if he avoided their wrath. "Basch, where are you?" Vaan asked himself, annoyed.

Down the street, much to Vaan's surprised, he spotted Basch. He dashed over to him.

"Basch," he said, almost harshly to get his attention. Basch turned and Vaan was almost taken aback by how different he look. He was no longer filled with rage, more so sorrow and regret. It hadn't even been that long. Maybe Ashe was right, maybe everyone was just tense and needed to cool off. Basch had just gotten the worst of the negitive effects. Vaan looked away from him.

"I think Ashe is talking to Balthier right now, she seemed pretty upset," he stated awkwardly.

Basch sighed and closed his stressed eyes. "It is expected. I apologize for my behavior earlier. I really do not know what possessed me to do that."

"Hey, don't apologize to me," Vaan said, looking at Basch. "And we're all tired."

"Still, that is no excuse..." Basch started, filled with guilt. He trailed off, ending with a soft sigh. "I suppose we should go back to the others. Did they send you to find me by yourself?"

"Yeah, and I'm glad they did."

"Oh?"

"They're probably yelling up a storm in there. Everybody is suddenly mad at everybody else. Even Fran seemed furious when I left," Vaan said, eyes averting as he walked alongside Basch.

Basch closed his eyes. "The fault is mine."

Vaan stopped talking, not knowing how to respond to such a true admittance. With a huff, he trudged his way along back to the Sandsea with Basch, who seemed to be lost in guilty thought. He lingered down the streets, taking far longer than he would in any other situation. Vaan took the time to stroll past the various merchants and appear mildly interested in their booths with tired glances. He was dreading what he would find back at the Sandsea. Vaan stretched his arms out and rested them behind his head as he walked.

The Sandsea came much sooner than Vaan could have hoped. With a purse of his lips, he swung the door open, bouncing it back with his foot as it closed in an easy effort to let Basch in as well. Basch held the door from crashing into himself and looked around The Sandsea with concern. He saw no blood staining the walls or out of hand violence, which was a plus for him.

"Hey Penelo?" Vaan questioned softly, peering wearily at Balthier, Ashe, and Fran, who appeared docile across the room. Penelo looked bored, sitting at a table by herself. "How did it go?"

Penelo blinked her wide eyes. "I think it went okay."

Basch made his way over to the three, tail between his legs. He did not dare to look into Balthier's eyes, but could feel his glare blazing straight though him. Basch approached the table with caution. "I am truly sorry," he murmured. "I should not have behaved in such a brutal manor. I do not know what has gotten into me."

Balthier crossed his arms and sighed deeply, tilting back in his chair enough to look at the grimy wooden ceiling. Ashe shot him a short look before turning her gaze to Basch. It was full of pain. Basch turned away slightly out of guilt. He was ashamed from what he had done.

"You two obviously need to sort some things out with each other. Trust is vital for our party and the restoration. Basch, we decided that you and Balthier are going to the Dalmasca Westersand together."

Basch raised a brow at her, causing the scar on his face to curve. He did not know what to say to that. "What?" he queried softly. "Why there?"

Ashe continued. "It's not completely irrelevant. There have been some strange reports around town of a monster lurking there. It would be in everyone's best interest if you two went there, slayed the beast, and returned when you two can tolerate each other." Ashe had emphasized the last part enough to make both of the men cringe.

"It's fine by me, as long as _he_ doesn't get in the way or get vicious again," Balthier said, his interest shifting to his over-sized gun propped on the chair by his side. "Don't worry about me, though, princess. A leading man is good in these sorts of situations."

Basch ignored him, feeling as though his tolerance that had previously been over the top had reset after his little outburst. That would be good, since he apparently would be trudging through the desert with him for the next couple of days.

"Can such a beast really be slain by just the two of us?"

Balthier scoffed, taking faux offense. "I hope your not implying that I'm less than a useful marksman, even though I have clearly saved you all in more than one occurrence."

A clawed hand clamped around Balthier's wrist and his eyes met with Fran's blazing crimson ones, signifying him to stop. Balthier stopped talking, but not without a heartfelt sigh.

"There are only rumors of it," Ashe replied, ignoring what had just happened. "If it turns out to be there and it looks too powerful, _please_ run away."

Basch nodded. Ashe seemed satisfied. "Basch, take this," she said, digging into one of her pockets and pulling out a small vial. She placed it in Basch's hand.

Upon inspection, Basch realized that the crimson red liquid in the vial was an X-Potion. "Ashe, don't waste this by giving it to me. You know as well as I do that those are hard to come by."

"It will put me at ease if you have it," Ashe said, shaking her head upon his refusal. She closed Basch's fingers around the potion. "You never know when you or Balthier might need it."

"As if he would use such a thing on _me_," Balthier scoffed, watching the two. Fran shook her head at Balthier making her large ears wobble. He merely shrugged in response.

Basch carefully pocketed the potion and muttered his gratitude to the princess, who nodded tiredly. "You are to leave at once. Please be careful and by _Ivalice_, don't kill each other."

Balthier stood up and stretched, grabbing his gun. "Alright then, it's settled. Ready to go, _captain_?"

"I don't have a choice," Basch responded simply.

"That's the spirit."

* * *

A/N: I'm writing another multi-chaptered fanfic at the moment for a different fandom, but I'm just so uninspired by it... and this one is just radiating with inspired-ness. XD Seriously, I'm in love with this crazy plot I came up with on a dime. And yes, there may be some slowly, slowly progressing guy-love in this fanfic. You'll just have to wait and see~

I've never written or read any FFXII fanfics before, believe it or not. I do hope that everyone is in character. Writing this makes me really want to write some Penelo fanfics. I just love her for some reason~ She's on my FFXII 'A-Team', along with Basch the tank, and Balthier the ranger/half-healer dude.

Thanks for reading this! Remember to review; all kinds of feedback is welcome, especially constructive criticism~


	2. Chapter 2

The heat of the desert was sweltering.

Basch and Balthier had arrived in the Dalmasca Westersand less than two hours ago. Although little time had passed since they began their journey, Basch knew that this was going to be a long, terrible, and exhausting hunt. The pirate was not a good traveling partner and Basch hated him.

The former knight swept his hand over the sweat forming at his brow for what seemed like the millionth time. He took the time to give Balthier an icy glare, who was traveling a good few meters in front of him as if the dreary desert was his homeland. The two men were keeping a safe distance from each other, already having been in a few snarling quarrels since they had arrived in the desert. Basch could not take it anymore, so he stalked behind Balthier. He hated letting the man have his way, but it was the only way to keep him quiet.

Balthier, being the _leading man_, had insisted on being the head of the party. Basch had argued it was a poor tactical decision to have someone proficient in ranged combat be in the front line. Creatures behind the scattered rocks could lunge out and kill him and Balthier would be close to defenceless when taken down. Basch was skilled in close combat, so it made sense that he should lead the two. But Balthier rudely insisted that he had a better sense of direction and the two men had fought over it. Before it had turned into a pointless brawl, Basch gave up. He told Balthier that if he wanted to get ambushed and killed before he even thought about shooting his gun, that was fine with him. He was the leading man, after all.

Balthier seemed satisfied with the unstable truce and had stormed off in front of Basch, pointing his stubborn nose up. Basch sighed and brought his narrowed eyes upwards. Indeed, this was going to be a long trip.

The Dalmasca Westersand could be accurately described as musky. Not the tropical, humid kind of musky that Basch wished he was basking in right then. It was the repulsive kind of musky that filled your lungs with sand and dirt upon every breath. Everything besides the hints of green on cacti and the darker colored rock pillars surrounding them was the color of sand. Even the clouds looked like sand. There were so many sand and dirt particles in the air that neither of the two travelers could make out each other. Basch trekked on, thankful that the pirate was wearing such a flashy shirt. He was easy to follow in such weather.

The gentle breeze that had swept the desert when Basch and Balthier had first arrived had grown into something almost ruthless. Sand caught in the wind's current dug its way into Basch's eyes, causing him to blink rapidly and tear up on impulse. Traveling through the desert was something that Basch loathed, and he was being reminded why at that very moment. The combination of sand digging into his skin and eyes, the melting-hot weather that was enough to make any sort of living being loopy, and the unsettling, scourging wind that drenched him sweat were all discomforting. Balthier was also a new addition to add to the list of things that Basch hated in the desert. At least he was keeping his distance and mouth shut.

Basch glowered up at his traveling companion. Somehow, the pirate still managed to be annoying even thought he was relatively silent and far away. The annoying swing of his hips while he walked, his careless, unfatigued, arrogant posture... Balthier was an irritating person in general. Basch tore his eyes off him and looked to the boring, desert ground.

He pondered whether or not he should catch up with Balthier in case he got attacked by a vicious creature prowling ahead. In the end, he decided that Balthier could take care of himself. He had stubbornly insisted so during a previous quarrel anyway. The monsters here were _pathetic_, he had said.

Trying to stop his thoughts from wondering, Basch squinted and brought his attention towards the bleak sky, clouded with sand particles. It was, of course, the color of desert sand, without even a trace of blue to it. It worried him if this was normal or not in the Dalmasca Westersand. The winds seemed more vicious than usual and the heat was disastrous. It seemed to be growing more and more treacherous by the second. He prayed that a sandstorm was not coming. Nature did not need to break the last of his dwindling hope for his and Balthier's mission.

Basch's footsteps were getting heavier and his breathing was getting harder. If he was already fatigued and a sandstorm hit, then this mission would definitely be his last. He didn't want to think about that, knowing that Ashe would be unable to forgive herself. The pain of him and Balthier's deaths would be unsettling in her own guilt. Basch frowned.

_I refuse to waste my entire life by dying in this desert,_ Basch growled to himself in his mind. He snapped out of his cryptic thoughts and stared ahead at the glimmering of Balthier's shirt, which was getting washed away by the rising winds and sand. Basch didn't dare speak his concerns about a possible sandstorm and his flickering fatigue with Balthier. He refused to rest until Balthier gave in and rested himself. The warrior refused to show weakness to the other, even if it was incredibly foolish. Basch would not loose to a filthy pirate.

Basch was surprised by how well Balthier was faring in such weather. The man marched on like he owned the place, not even close to being fatigued. He wished that the Balthier would stop being so... himself. It was driving him mad.

_The reason he can march through here like it's nothing is because he's a damn sky pirate; he's used to unfit conditions, _a growling voice in Basch's head reminded him. He sneered, calculating how many times this pirate had trudged through sandstorms in order to steal treasure. Balthier had probably been through worse to get his hands on a few gil. From how well he was holding up in this possible rising sandstorm, gave Basch the impression that he did not even want to know.

"Balthier," Basch hollered, his voice hoarse. A choking sensation filled his lungs from the sand, but he forced himself not to cough. Basch could see the shimmering stop moving up ahead. Basch hurried over to him, making an effort to catch his breath beforehand. Balthier had a grim expression on his face and his eyes were sharp and alert. Basch had not been expecting that from the man. At least he was serious about the situation. He had turned his head to Basch, waiting for him to speak.

Basch cleared the sandstorm debris from his dry throat that was screaming to be hydrated. "It looks like there's -"

"-a sandstorm coming, yes. From what I've gathered, sandstorms get pretty nasty in this area. Their also naturally spontaneous and somewhat frequent," Balthier droned. The laid back, snarky tone to his voice remained, but Basch could tell that Balthier was very serious about the situation. He was critical and upright, staying alert to his surroundings with a deep frown spreading across his face.

"We should find somewhere to stay. We can wait it out," Basch suggested over the hissing wind. He tried to stay calm, but ended up eyeing the sand-colored skies. They were a lot worse than they had been mere seconds ago.

Balthier frowned. "Where do you presume we stay, _captain_?" Balthier gestured lazily around the wasteland. Basch could hardly see anything anymore, but he got the point. There was no where for them to go. "We'll have to find somewhere _not_ in the sand if we want to survive this sandstorm. I don't know how much longer I can bare out here with my clothes being soiled."

Basch could make out Balthier pouting slightly, which turned into a dangerous curl of his lip. Basch stared at him, dumbfounded. _Unbelievable,_ he thought. Basch shook his head and said no more. Balthier continued on into the sandy nothingness, shifting his position on his gun after propping it on his knee.

Basch found it surprising that they had encountered nothing yet. Everyone knew that pirates were bad luck. _Hence, the rising sandstorm, _Basch blamed. He knew it was ridiculous, but it made him feel better.

Then again, the creatures that lived in the Dalmasca Westersand were used to the unpredictable conditions of the desert, and would be the first to burrow away if there was a brewing sandstorm. They probably were too occupied looking for shelter to attack the two food sources making their way through the start of a sandstorm. Even the monsters probably thought that they were insane by doing something like that.

Basch followed Balthier, having no other choice if he wanted to survive. He stayed closer to the pirate than he had been previously. The wind was picking up much faster and sand was starting to fly around dangerously in the air. The hard impact against his skin stung. Balthier held a hand to his face to shield his eyes from the dangerous, sandy winds.

As if the gods snapped their fingers, Basch and Balthier were caught in the middle of a raging sandstorm. Basch held his arm up to protect his face. He was shocked by how sudden it had come and how loud it was. He couldn't see a thing, but he could sort of make out a glimmering speck that he assumed to be Balthier. If it wasn't Balthier, then Basch was screwed. He coughed and followed him, planting each step as he went so that he wouldn't get lost in the furious sand.

The pirate steered his way to the right and picked up his pace as much as he could. The resistance of the ruthless wind was frantic. Basch was getting nervous. Back in Rabanastre, no one had mentioned anything about a sandstorm in the Dalmasca Westersand. Surely they would have warned them, but this sandstorm came out of nowhere. It would have been hard to guess something so random.

Balthier scurried through the sand as best as he could, much like a mouse running away from a hawk. It was useless. The sandstorm was coming much faster than they could get away from it. Howling, scourging hot winds drilled past their stinging ears. Basch was now a couple of feet behind Balthier, huffing and grunting from running in such hellish weather. The biting sand stung into his skin and every exposed part of his body burned. Basch squinted as much as he could without closing his eyes. He would have kept them completely closed if he was not trying to follow Balthier. Although sight was useless in this kind of weather, he could faintly make out the glint of Balthier's prominent shirt even though he was right on his tail.

Balthier stumbled to a rocky surface that he assumed to be one of the many canyon-like rocks that made up the geography of the Dalmasca Westersand. He felt his way across it as fast as he could, spluttering sand out of his mouth. He flailed his arms a bit, but regained his balance and ran on like nothing had happened. Balthier exhaled and continued to slide his way across the rocky wall, unable to see anything at all through the intensity of the raging sandstorm. If he and Basch did not find some sort of shelter soon, they were done for.

An he had so much more to live for. Balthier released a silent scoff out of sheer annoyance of the situation. They just _had_ to get stuck in the middle of a sandstorm.

As if their situation couldn't get any worse, an ear-splitting, demonic roar echoed from the distance. Balthier froze, chilled to the bone by the abnormality of the situation. His eyes widened when the roaring did not stop. Basch had also stopped dead in his tracks. It then occurred to Balthier that enormous and live monster had made that sound, not the sandstorm's winds. Balthier could have fainted.

The roar had echoed through the entire area and rattled the very cliffs they were clinging to. The ground literally shook. The vibrations were still present and Balthier and Basch's ears were still ringing. Balthier tried to judge the size of such a demon from its terrible roar, but was too set on survival right now. If that thing found them, they were going to be monster snack.

A sandstorm could at least be expected in such an area of a desert, but_ that _definitely was not supposed to happen. Somebody would have warned them of a beast of such mass.

Balthier's mind flashed to the princess, telling them that there were reports of a beast lurking around the Dalmasca Westersand. He cursed under his breath. If they were supposed to be killing that thing, then he wanted nothing to do with this mission. Balthier did not care how bad it would make him look, there was no way he and Basch were going to be able slay such a thing.

Balthier gained his composure back when the guttural roar had died out. Without hesitation, he darted across the rocky wall again, hoping that Basch was not too rattled to be unable to follow. Balthier kicked a frightened cactoid along the way with his sturdy boot, causing it to squeal angrily and dance off into the desert beyond his short line of vision. The source of the heart-stopping roar was nowhere to be found but sandstorm was getting worse.

To add to his rough luck, Balthier misplaced his footing over a jagged rock jutting out beside the cliff-like rocky wall. He gasped silently and started to fall straight to the ground, face first. He flailed like a bird shot from the sky to find something to stop himself from the upcoming impact. He couldn't see anything, so it was no use. Balthier braced himself, but felt a firm - too firm - hold on his upper arm. He panted and briefly spun around, flushed, giving a quick nod to Basch for catching him before scurrying onwards.

Balthier's whimpering thoughts snapped to the demon beast again. He couldn't let himself forget about their good friend, the very likely human devourer. Balthier shivered slightly as he slid across the rocky pillar. He hoped that that monster was not what he and Basch were sent out here to kill. Never in his life had he witnessed a beast so massive that it's roar, from a _distance,_ caused the world to creak. If this was the beast he and Basch were sent out to the desert to kill, they were better off fleeing back to Rabanastre. Balthier was not one for such cowardice, but it this case, it was necessary.

A long, faint, remorseful howl came to the attention of the two men. It was much more muffled than the thunderous roar of the beast they had heard earlier and _far_ less threatening. Wolves.

Balthier huffed and readied his gun, trekking slower along the barren wasteland wall. Wolves seemed to be the least of their problems. His gun was no use since he couldn't see anything through the sandstorm's curtains, but if a wolf did happen to prey on him, he could shoot it while it was trying to devour his neck.

The wolf howled again its whimpering howl of angst. Balthier knew they were getting closer to it or the pack but had no means to judge where the wolf was. Sounds were deceiving in such a violent sandstorm. He shot a quick glance behind him to see if Basch was aware of the situation, but did not see his partner. Turning completely, he squinted through the raging sand. His heart jumped from within him and he cursed mentally. What would Ashe say if he returned to Rabanastre without Basch? He would surely get the most humiliating beating of his life.

But all was well; Balthier noticed Basch to his side, trudging to the front of him. Balthier followed the man, hoping that he had the same idea that he had - find the wolves and hope that they were grouping together because they had shelter. Balthier assumed that was why Basch had gone to the front of the frenzy. If they were lucky, there was going to be a wolf massacre. Balthier casted his eyes upon the blond with interest as he disappeared into the howling storm towards the cries of the wolves. Shrugging, he hurried onwards.

Unable to even hear himself speak if he were to talk, Balthier poked Basch with the metallic tip his gun, making him crane his neck glare at him. Balthier raised his brow before gesturing to where he assumed the wolves were with the point of his gun. Balthier could barely see Basch nodding through the storm. He noticed that Basch's face was red and slightly puffy from the painful slicing of the sand cutting through the wind. Balthier was sure that he looked the same.

Within a few moments, Basch headed towards where Balthier had pointed. The pirate followed after cocking his gun. He brought the scope to his eye out of habit and followed Basch.

Stalking around in a sandstorm with a gun was not an easy task. Balthier liked to keep his distance from enemies, which was next to impossible in these kinds of conditions. He had a small, moderately useless dagger with him, tucked away in his boot. The puny kitchen knife would do him no good for murdering a pack of possibly vicious wolves.

Vicious wolves who probably had _shelter_, he reminded himself. If he had only learned one thing from his treasure hunting pillages in the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea, it had been to try to follow animals in the case of foul weather. That, of course, was a last resort choice. The creatures could sense the sandstorm before humans could and would hide away before it. It was interesting, really. Fran had taught him that, and Fran was rarely wrong. She knew a lot about survival. Balthier assumed that the wolves were crying out in order to group together the ones that were straying from the den.

Balthier frowned, hoping that he and Basch actually were headed towards the den.

He adjusted the gun resting on his shoulder. They were going to massacre an entire den of wolves if all went well. The thought was unsettling, but it was for shelter from the gut-wrenching rage of the sandstorm.

A darker thing than the sky came into view above them. The two men looked at it curiously while continuing on. A wolf howled again, but this time the noise had been much closer. Balthier smiled, feeling his cracked lips twist painfully from being abused in the sandstorm.

The dark thing turned out to be a huge crevice - maybe even a cave in the confining rock structures around them. Basch seemed to quicken his pace. He unsheathed his sword with a loud _sliiink _and held onto it with a death grip. Balthier didn't blame him for being nervous. Taking out an entire den of wolves was not an easy task, but it was necessary.

His reveries were interrupted by a loud 'hyah' from Basch. He swung his sword clean through a yelping wolf, spraying it's blood in every which direction from the sheer force and raging sandstorm winds. A bit splattered on Balthier's face and he frowne, ldooking for any signs of movement through his scope. The first blow had been made and the war had started. Now that the first wolf was down, the rest of the pack was sure to be creeping elsewhere, ready to attack the new threat.

Basch didn't waste a heartbeat to charge towards the cave-looking structure in the distance. Balthier watched him closely. His hawk eye noticed a different colored sort of movement to his side through the sand and he shot at it with a loud 'pop' without hesitation. The wolf had yelped in agony and Balthier continued on, satisfied that he had hit his mark in such unbelievable weather. It had been moving fast, too.

The two were surprised to find a lack of wolves as they approached the den. Upon entering the dark cave, Balthier spun around, making sure there were no wolves around. Basch spluttered and coughed as soon as he made it into the cave-like crevice and leaned with a hand on the rocking wall, looking like he was going to collapse. The sounds drilling from outside of the cave had been muffled slightly, but still raged on.

Balthier wordlessly crept deeper into the den, gun ready and cocked again. His dominant hand shook at the trigger and his eyes pierced the darkness. It was quieter in the cave than it had been out in the sandstorm, so he could hear a wolf if it was coming.

All Balthier heard was the ringing in his own ears, the nasty sounds of the sandstorm in the distance, Basch's unhealthy breathing, and... growling?

Balthier glared into the distance and tightened the grip on his gun. He was at a major disadvantage, not being able to see very well. Balthier slowly backed up towards the entrance of the crevice where Basch was, not taking his eyes off of the darkness that his eyes were slowly adjusting to.

It pounced, surprising Balthier enough to blindly shoot his gun. He grunted pitifully as he slammed to the floor of the ground. His gun bounced off to the other side of the cave, discarded like a toy. A wolf was on his chest, ready to start gnawing Balthier's head off. He was pinned under the hot, drooling breath of the wolf and lied there helplessly flailing. Hissing, he punched the wolf in its crest with all of his might, causing it to yelp and growl at an even lower pitch. THe wolf didn't hesitate to chomp into the upper part of his shoulder. The wolf's sharp fangs sunk deep into Balthier's arm, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and yell expletives, trashing to get the beast off of him.

The wolf yelped and was forcefully ripped from Balthier's arm, jaw still clamped tightly to it. While the wolf was kicked away, a good portion of Balthier's upper arm was, too, causing him to scream. Balthier felt the blood gusting from his arm and wondered if it was still attached. He didn't dare to look. Balthier eventually managed to suppress his cries into a deep hiss. His dizzy, unfocused eyes watched the wolf get sliced through the heart. A panting, wide-eyed Basch stood over Balthier, still holding a sword through the wolf between them. His wide eyes were focused entirely on Balthier's gory arm.

Balthier smirked dizzily before resting his spinning head against the rock ground again. He tried to say something about Basch saving him but couldn't find the right words or the energy to speak them. To Balthier's shock, Basch was now kneeling at his side, gingerly inspecting the damage with a horrified look on his face. Balthier used all the effort he had left to crane his head to look at the would on his arm.

With a sharp, nauseated intake of air, Balthier wondered if that was really his _arm_. It looked awful. The entire arm of his torn pirate shirt was dyed crimson from all the blood. The fangs had ripped his skin so much that you couldn't tell they were teeth marks at all. It looked like someone had tried to hack his arm off with an axe and was close to sucess. Feeling sick with agony and disgust, Balthier weakly turned his head away, praying that Basch would not poke at it too much.

Balthier was already feeling dizzy from the immense blood loss and clenched his jaw together. It occurred to him that he might die here. His death would have been caused by a simple wolf that he had not been paying attention to. Balthier was thankful that the worst part of the pain had not set in yet - he still was in shock that that had just happened and that his arm was mutilated so badly.

He watched as the cave and the worried blond warrior faded, getting darker and darker. Balthier was feverishly escaping the throbbing pain in his own unconscious thoughts. He willed himself to stay awake longer, prying his frantic eyes open. They fluttered slightly and a soft noise of pain escaped his unparted lips.

"Balthier," Basch growled, eyes shooting upon the pirate. "God dammit!" he cursed, stalking away to the other side of the cave much concern, borderline panic. Balthier could have laughed, but couldn't find the means to do so. It was absurd, seeing Basch's face filled with so much worry for the likes of _himself,_ a dirty pirate. He thought for sure that Basch hated him. Balthier groaned and managed a cheeky smirk through the pain. Basch kicked the stone wall of the crevice hard with his worn boot. That was the last thing Balthier witnessed before his world had turned completely red. Then, there was darkness.

* * *

A/N: Uh oh, that can't be good. Sorry to leave you on such a terrible cliff hanger~

Bleeeh, so when I initially wrote this chapter it was around ten thousand words! I sawed it down to this... even though it's still pretty long. I just couldn't help myself describing the wonderland that is the Dalmasca Westersand and Balthier's gory arm. _; Believe it or not, I kinda like that snide old fellow. He_ is_ the leading man, after all. Speaking of our favorite leading men, I kept writing 'gunblade' instead of 'gun'. Wrong Final Fantasy...

Am I the only one who was absolutely amazed by the beautiful game design of the Dalmasca Westersand? It's so... wooww. I like all the areas in FFXII, but that one is probably one of my favorites for some reason. It's so pretty~

Enough blabbering, though. I might not be able to write too much this week since school I have a paper to write and four books to read... but I'll try. Remember to review~ I love getting feedback and concrits~


	3. Chapter 3

Basch reviewed the situation in his head again while trying to keep his shallow breathes controlled.

They had found a wolf den, Balthier ventured into it, and a wolf attacked him. Now, he was going to die from blood loss if his wound was not given proper attention. The sandstorm remained hissing and violent outside of the cave. The yellow abyss offered not a hint to Basch on how to get back to Rabanastre. Their supplies were limited and they could not wander around the desert forever, especially in such weather conditions.

Balling his hand into a tight fist, Basch resisted the tingling urge to punch cave wall so hard that his knuckles would break. This was not supposed to happen. Balthier had been so careless.

The former knight took in a deep breath and willed himself to pull out of his sullen reverie triggered by the sand-colored nothingness of the desert outside. He tried to catch his breath and sanity before he began to do something useful. It was an irritating mystery as to why he had become so fatigued upon watching the incident happen. With a strangled swallow, Basch watched the pirate bleed and willed himself to creep over to him. A chill went through his spine and he felt his stomach churn. Basch scowled at himself for being rattled by such a thing when he had seen much worse.

It occurred to Basch that the wolves would smell the bloody feast that was Balthier and come swarming like sharks. Food was hard to come by and less appealing in a sandstorm and Balthier sure looked like an open all-you-can-eat banquet to a wolf. Basch tore off the pirate's bloody sleeve with a calm - if not concerned - expression on his face. Basch had somehow managed to regain control of himself and clear his mind. He wrapped the bloody, tattered sleeve around Balthier's tender wound. It did not take much observation to find that Balthier had long passed out.

Upon being bandaged, the sky pirate's limp body was more like a limp corpse. He did not so much as subconsciously twitch. Balthier's face was face was clammy and damp with no color whatsoever except for the sunken darkness of his lightly closed eyes. There was not much light dripping into the cave from the sandstorm outside, but from what Basch could see; Balthier looked more dead than alive. He was having conversation at death's gate, no doubt.

Basch had no idea how long he had been watching over Balthier. It could have been hours or a day. His sense of time had been long swept away by the sandstorm. He was relieved that Balthier no longer felt stone-like a cold as he had previously. It scared Basch and he would admit that. As much as he hated Balthier, he truly did not want him to die. It was strange how near-death incidents squeezed the truth out.

Basch would have been fooled if he had not seen what had happened. _A pirate doesn't die this easily,_ Basch thought. The contemplation was disturbing and Basch sat back further away from Balthier and kept the deep frown on his face. He glanced out into the storm again with a long, deep inhalation. The fierce smell of blood was overwhelming and seemed drown Basch's lungs.

It was peculiar that Balthier's injury was bothering Basch. He was not one to be bothered by gore. Blood would often spill from his own hand. During heated and unpleasant battles, he would practically bathe in the blood spilled from others. It was one of those things that came with being a knight. However, Balthier's wound made him feel sick guilt. Basch did not know if it was the blood that was currently bothering him or if it was the mere thought of having someone he was supposed to be looking out for die.

_I should have insisted that he not lead the party. Something was bound to happen,_ Basch thought bitterly. The remaining white in Balthier's previously flawless sleeve was now dyed a disturbing shade of brilliant crimson.

_Princess Ashe is going to_ kill_ me_, he thought, staring at Balthier. Basch closed his eyes and slumped his shoulders foreword.

Upon thinking of Princess Ashe, something no different than an epiphany hit Basch so hard that it nearly knocked the wind out of him. He coughed slightly from the surprise of emerging thoughts and sat up, more alert and awake then he had been even before he ventured into the Dalmasca Westersand. The X-Potion. The princess had given him an X-Potion.

He struck his sword into the sandy floor by Balthier, who had been laid flat on a more or less flat rock surface against the wall near the mouth of the cave. The sword sliced through the sand and met with solid rock with a muffled clang that vibrated the sword all the way up the hilt to Basch's tingly hand. Basch nearly clutched the blunt of his blade to silence its sharp clang. He then remembered that Balthier was out cold. It would be an unpleasant miracle if he woke up to something as simple as that.

Basch crouched down next to Balthier and gingerly put a hand to the pirate's clammy forehead. He did not stir. Basch was surprised to find that his body temperature was not freezing, but hot. Hotter than it should have been under normal circumstances – a fever perhaps. Basch was relieved, even if the pirate was starting to get a fever. At least he was alive.

It was not an easy task to coax the reluctant pirate's unconscious throat into swallowing the red liquid of the X-Potion, but it had been necessary. Basch took extra care to make sure that every drop of the X-Potion was consumed by Balthier.

Basch assumed that the X-Potion had, for the most part, helped a lot with the healing process of his morbid arm injury. Basch was too lenient to untie the tightly tied piece of cloth around his wound. If it was still open, he would have a fun time trying to wrap the bloody former sleeve back onto his arm again. Also, it could easily get infected. They were in an unsanitary cave – a wolf den.

There was nothing else to do but wait.

Straggling wolves died under Basch's blade as he waited for Balthier to regain consciousness. The wolves trailed in from the sandstorm every so often, curious about the delicious smell coming from their den. In one instance, a wolf prowled in from the depths of the cage. Basch, simply put, slaughtered them. It was just a duty for him. Keep himself and Balthier alive, slay the beast, and go back to Rabanastre to continue on with the restoration of Dalmasca.

If Balthier did not come out of his ditsy pirate dreamland soon, then his and Basch's lives were going to be in serious danger. Basch had already caught himself dozing off a few times. He carried on with the burning desire to protect Dalmasca and to complete his current mission. However strong he was, the fatigue was starting to override his ambitions.

Basch needed sleep. But if he fell asleep now, wolf – or worse yet, that demon monster that they had heard – could kill them. To prevent himself from sleeping, Basch refused to sit down and paced across the small width of the cave. He leaned on the hilt of his sword that now dripped with blood.

Basch's interest was immediately sparked when he noticed the corpse-like limp body of Balthier reanimate with a lingering twitch of the fingers. He made his way over to the pirate and stood over him, not yet convinced that he was awakening from the painted dreamland in the back of his head. But he shifted again and scrunched his face in with a deep, aching sound escaping his throat. Balthier's eyes fluttered open, glossed over with utter confusion, pain, and grogginess. He was completely lost.

"Don't move," Basch ordered, though not intending on making a move to stop him. Basch wasn't sure if his somewhat rough words had registered through Balthier's hazy mind. He brought his gaze up to Basch with awe, as if he was a space alien with nine arms and three heads. Balthier simply stared.

Basch hitched a brow, knowing how fuzzy a person's mind could get when they regained harsh consciousness. "Don't move," he repeated. "You're hurt."

The pirate seemed to be absorbing his surroundings like a dry sponge submerged into the ocean. Confusion was still apparent on his face. "… I," he managed to crack out, but found his voice hoarse and dry. He closed his eyes and began to peel himself of from the rock surface he had been laid on. Balthier winced at the use of his arm and went right back down again.

The former knight was relieved that Balthier was not dead, but mostly relieved that he could finally get some sleep. Basch was sure that he could not last another hour. If they got attacked, Balthier could always wake him up with a harsh warning before he got eaten. Basch silently watched the pirate, whose eyes were now closed. His white face ceased to regain color.

After a while, he reopened them again and slowly sat up and cleared his throat, face draining back into a less pale state. "My apologies, I was going to tell you that I felt incredibly nauseous," he proclaimed flatly. His lungs and throat were bone dry and his words were hard to make out. It made Basch cringe. Basch ignored the pirate's rising sarcasm, uncorked his half-full canteen, and held it out for Balthier. He accepted it graciously with his good arm that was somewhat shaky.

Balthier drank slowly, savoring the taste of water. He did not drink much, however, and handed the canteen back to Basch after an inaudible gasp. "Where are we?" he inquired, looking around the dark cave. Balthier's voice was less ridged and painful to listen now that he was hydrated.

"You do not remember?" Basch asked curiously, tying the canteen back around his waist where it belonged. The thought of water crossed his mind, but he remembered that Balthier was skilled in casting and could probably cast a water spell.

There was a pause that was filled with the howling winds from outside. Balthier thought about it, his face in loose concentration. "We're in a wolf den," he said quietly. He was not satisfied and glowered at the brooding ceiling of the cave.

Basch nodded and all of the sudden, Balthier hissed in pain, clutching the makeshift bandage around his wounded arm. Basch gave a moderate glance of concern, but refused to take action. "Damn," the pirate croaked gruffly, more out of surprise than pain. He cautiously poked the wound and then began to tear down his ruined sleeve.

His upper arm had seen better days. The X-Potion and the time Balthier had spent unconscious had significantly bettered his nightmarish, gaping wound. Still, it looked awful. Balthier inspected it with a blank face, stretching the reddened, tender flesh with his fingers to examine. Basch was surprised that he had such a scar left even after the X-Potion. There was dry, crusted blood on his skin around his wound but none of it was fresh. Balthier discarded his useless, bloody sleeve and frowned.

"Why use _my_ sleeve?" Balthier scoffed in such a way that made Basch begin to open his mouth to shout some sense into the pirate, but the remark had not been serious. Balthier tore his gaze from his scarred arm and onto Basch, who stood before him, looking exhausted. "What exactly happened?"

"You went on deeper into the den and apparently didn't see a rather stealthy wolf prowling in the shadows. It tore up your arm quite nicely. I killed it and had to use the X-Potion Ashe gave me when you passed out," Basch said with such a flat tone that Balthier had to watch to see if the former knight hadn't turned undead.

Balthier seemed satisfied with the answer, though. His sharp eyes lowered and his gaze fell blankly across the cave. "How long ago did that happen?"

Basch shrugged. His perception of time had been sucked away by the harsh winds of the sandstorm long ago. "I need sleep," was all he said. Balthier seemed to understand and did not protest. In the silence, the winds of the sandstorm echoed through the cave.

"It can't last much longer," Balthier breathed to himself. That was his last comment spoken before falling into a deep, much needed sleep. He made an effort to sleep in the opposing corner of the cave from Balthier, his back to the other man. He clutched on to the hilt of his sword as he slept for quick access, just in case a stray wolf came in late for supper. Balthier smirked faintly at Basch's apparent passive aggressiveness.

Balthier stiffly stood up and stretched himself out. He was careful not to hurt his injured arm again. Even though this task seemed close to impossible, he did not want to risk anything. Balthier still could not believe that it was fully healed yet. From the amount of blood splattered on the cave floor and dripping from his torn off sleeve, the wound had to have been pretty vital. It was hard to think that a simple dose of X-Potion could heal such an injury.

Making his was slowly through the cave with a frown, Balthier found his gun tossed carelessly on the save floor nearby where Basch was sleeping. His frown deepened upon finding it. He picked it up and inspected it thoroughly, taking extra care to see if the barrel was bent or if the wood was scratched. It seemed alright. Balthier considered testing it out - firing a shot out into the sandstorm - but it might wake the dead-like Basch or stir trouble from deep within the wolf den. Balthier feared for the ladder.

Sighing, Balthier shrunk down the side of the cave opposite of Basch and propped his gun on the ground for loose support. It was obvious that he could not sleep while Basch was sleeping – one of those unspoken rules of survival. Balthier waited and let his mind run loose.

* * *

The time it took for the sandstorm to diminish was almost as quick as its surprise entrance. One second, Balthier was staring off into space, occupied by his own boring, political contemplations of Archaedes as he waited for Basch to wake up so that they could figure out what to do with their current situation. The next second, he took a glance outside of the cave and was shocked to see the dusty aftermath of a sandstorm.

The lack of vicious sandstorm piqued the man's interest and seemed to lighten the mood. There was now one less problem to worry about on the roster.

Balthier scrunched his nose. The smell of decaying wolf corpses, wolf, blood, and his and Basch's combined filth and grime was nauseatingly strong. Now that the sandstorm was dead, the winds were weaker and the scents seemed to all hit him at once. Balthier held his good sleeve up to his face and breathed in deeply, exaggerating his disgust.

His eyes flickered over to Basch when he had caught him moving out of the corner of his eye. Balthier stretched his arms heartily, glad that he no longer had to keep watch.

"We should go now. The sandstorm passed and I'm quite eager to get back to civilization," Balthier said after clearing his throat. "I would like to bathe as soon as possible."

Basch looked at him and then into the desert, his expression blank. He looked exhausted, even after catching a bit of sleep. "I think it would be best if we went back to Rabanastre right now instead of carrying on with the mission."

Balthier set his interest on Basch. "I never thought _you_ would say that. Or agree with me."

"We were not prepared for a sandstorm and it rattled us more than it should have. The only thing we have left is a couple of potions," Basch said in his defense. Balthier frowned, wondering if Basch was still sane. He usually went on about honor and the importance of fulfilling one's assigned duty. "Plus, you heard that _thing_ roar in the sandstorm, correct?"

Balthier paused thoughtfully. The mixture of his mind being fuzzy and dry from his unconsciousness and the physical blurriness of the sandstorm left a dent in Balthier's recent memories. "A roar?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, a roar," Basch retorted simply, leaning his back to the cave wall. "More than a roar." He avoided eye contact with Balthier by peering out into the dusty desert. The lack of interest shined through his pursed lips and it was apparent that Basch did not want to go into detail on the demonizing cry he had heard. That is, until either Balthier also remembered such a roar or until the pirate forgot that he had mentioned such a thing. If Balthier's memory was truly failing him, then Basch would appear insane.

Basch cleared his throat and began to say something else, but Balthier was not about to let him veer from such a crucial subject just yet. "What do you mean, 'roar'? What kind of roar?"

"One that clearly told us to go back to Rabanastre," Basch said with frustration. "It's far too dangerous to be wandering around aimlessly in these parts," Basch said reluctantly.

Balthier brought his eyes upon Basch, looking for any sort of amusement in his hard features and found none. "Ah, the worst kind," he said, tongue smacked with the overflowing honey of sarcasm. He crossed his arms over his chest stiffly, taking extra caution with his post-injured arm. "When did such a roar occur?"

"I'm not making this up," Basch growled. Balthier did not flinch simply due to the fact that he was too far away from his dangerous reach and sword span. "You definitely heard it, too. You're just delirious right now."

"Delirious? My words are coherent. If anyone sounds distant from reality right now, it's you," Balthier pointed out. He had no intent on burning the remaining patience in the deteriorating Basch and decided to stay quiet.

Basch shook his head and wandered to the mouth of the cave to stare ominously out of it. "We're going back to Rabanastre."

As if on cue, a sandy wind swept through the cave, bringing in the head and unpleasant miasma of the desert outside. Balthier looked at Basch like he was crazy. He had always thought that Basch had been a man running on nothing more than honor and pride. "What about our mission? We can't just abandon it because something spooked you."

"It shook the _entire desert_."

"Mhmm."

Basch threw a dirty glare at Balthier – who matched it with one of bored sass – before turning back to look outside of their dead-wolf coven. There were a million and one insults Basch could have hissed at the pirate, but he decided not to for everyone's sake. Balthier could provoke him all he wanted – there was no way he was going to crack again. Basch took in a deep breath and took the angered edge out of his composure.

"If you would like to continue on with the suicide mission of locating a demon monster that could kill us with a single toe, then go ahead. I, however, am going back to Rabanastre," Basch said, turning back to pace into the cave. The intensity made Balthier feel a sort of unease that he would never admit to.

There was a mischievous glint in Balthier's eyes. "That is an empty threat; you know very well that we have to stick together no matter what."

"Did you not say earlier that you longed to see civilization?" Basch inquired. He frowned, earning Balthier a little smirk. "I don't know about you, but if that monster is the thing we are supposed to kill, you might as well use that gun of yours to kill us both right now. If you want to live to see more days in your life, I would suggest not hunting down such a demon and getting away while we still can. I'm sure there's a guild in Rabanastre that would be more than willing to take this dilemma into their own hands. Right now, we are defenseless flies."

Logic seemed to have scattered away with the diminishing sandstorm. "I know what I said about _wanting_ to go back to Rabanastre. We can't just come back empty handed," Balthier muttered, pondering the troublesome possible outcomes.

"Sometimes you have to make exceptions. I think that a monster that dwells in sandstorms and can cause the entire territory to have tremors goes into the category of one of those exceptions in which you can leave a mission empty handed."

"So will we die with honor or flee?" Balthier stood up rather abruptly and shook out his aching legs. "You're the captain. You decide."

There was a pause before anyone spoke again. Balthier took his eyes off the mouth of the cave to look at Balthier with near suspicion for his sudden cooperativeness. Balthier took the time to stretch his stiff body out, making soft grunts as he stretched his arms. He inspected his scarred arm one last time with a hard look of displeasure and disgust, mostly for himself being stupid enough to get such an injury in the first place. It was humiliating.

Basch huffed, frustrated all of the sudden. "Fine. I suppose we can scout and carefully stay a safe distance away from the monster to see what we're really up against." He hated giving into Balthier's clever strategy, but he was right – they could not run like cowards and go home empty handed. They would have to either successfully carry out the mission or die trying.

"Excellent," Balthier said, smacking his hands together and grinning. He looked into the desert, which was nearly clear of all the sand and debris that had been blocking their vision. "And so the future continues to unfold."

Basch hoped that Balthier meant that in a positive way. The former night began to regret his decision promptly after he had spoken it. He wished he knew what they were up against. The unknown was certainly chilling.

* * *

A/N: Never have I spent so much time on a piece of writing before. Ever. I cannot even begin to count how many times I revised/tore apart/completely restarted this chapter. On top of being hard to write, I am also ridiculously busy. But I am not dead. This story will be updated very, very infrequently. Sorry about that.

I think that the characterizations of Basch and Balthier are a little better in this chapter. I'm replaying FFXII, you see. I still almost cried when Larsa found out that his father is dead. Why does that scene get me every time? You would never guess that Larsa is my favorite character from reading this fanfic, would you? Hm, I didn't even mention Larsa... Well, anyway, FFXII It's still as fun as it was the first time. Here's a secret: it's way funner than FFXIV, too, which I've also been playing.


End file.
